


The Detective Guardian

by RedDragon30000



Category: Agatha Christie's Poirot (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27757090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedDragon30000/pseuds/RedDragon30000
Summary: Reminded of her recent past by a horrible nightmare, Julie soon remembers the first time she encountered Poirot. For his part, the little Belgian remembers the moment his life changed forever as he comforts his ward.
Kudos: 2





	The Detective Guardian

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written to provide a little background about how Poirot suddenly ended up with a new ward. I hope I've created a convincing back-story.

The night-time always caused mixed feelings for Julie. On the one hand, Poirot would be there every evening to settle her into bed, or George would do so when Poirot was away on a case. No matter who did this, it always made her feel safe and protected; as there would always be someone she loved and trusted in the apartment. However, on the other side, night was also the time when she was the most vulnerable to the terrible memories she carried about the people who had previously had charge of her. Consequently, she was prone to appalling nightmares, and although they did not happen often, she was always thrown terribly off balance when one occurred. Tonight was no exception.

Stumbling out of her room, blinded by tears, she caught sight of a streak of light shining from under the kitchen door. With faltering steps she made her way as quickly as she could towards the door. At the moment she didn’t care who was inside, Poirot or George, as long as they could make her feel _safe_. Flinging open the door, she tripped on the end of the blanket she was clutching around herself, falling to her knees. At last she allowed her fear and misery to manifest itself, and the kitchen was suddenly filled with the sound of her choked, terrified sobs.

Almost immediately a pair of arms in shirtsleeves was clasped around her, and she was lifted from the floor, her blanket being rearranged so that she was neatly wrapped into it. Her head was pressed gently against a slightly rumpled waistcoat and as he set her on his lap, cradling her against his chest, she realised that the person who held her was George. Even though both Poirot and George were able to comfort her with equal effectiveness when she needed it, the way they went about this was always very different. Poirot would typically rock her and soothe her with whispered endearments, while George would remain silent and still, cradling her gently until she had stopped crying, ever the imperturbable manservant even in this task. 

At last, George’s solid, comfortable presence soothed Julie enough that her crying began to cease. Sensing this, George silently offered her his handkerchief and shifted her upright so that her head was now resting against his shoulder. When it seemed that she was calm enough to respond to him, George enquired softly:

“What was your nightmare about, Miss Julie?”

Still gripping his waistcoat in an almost desperate clutch, Julie pulled herself together enough to sob,

“It w-was about _t-them._ ”

For a few moments, George did not reply to this declaration, but he tightened his hold on her in an almost protective fashion. At last he responded to her in a reassuring tone.

“I know that you are afraid of them, and you have good reason to be. Yet they cannot hurt you any more, they are all in prison for what they did to you.”

Suddenly he hissed something in an uncharacteristic venomous undertone, which Julie was certain George had not meant her to hear.

“ _I hope they all rot in there!_ ”

Julie pretended not to have heard this outburst, and at last George rose from his seat at the kitchen table. His uncertainty whether to place Julie on her feet or not was solved for him when she suddenly clasped her arms around his neck. Resigning himself to carrying Julie for the moment, he enquired:

“Would you like to see Monsieur Poirot? I know he is not asleep, and I can see that you need him right now.”

Julie stared at George for a moment, utterly bewildered how he had realised her unspoken desire. She nodded in response, and a knowing, secretive smile briefly flitted across the valet’s wooden face as he carried Julie towards Poirot’s bedroom. Knocking on the door, they heard Poirot respond with a slightly perplexed “ _Entre_?” George immediately pushed the door open and carried Julie inside. Poirot was sitting up in bed, an open bible in his hands and his pince-nez resting on his nose. Seeing that George was carrying his ward, he immediately shut his bible and removed his pince-nez. From her reddened eyes, and the way that Julie was almost desperately clutching at George, she had clearly been woken by a nightmare. Poirot was certain he knew the content of this nightmare, even without being informed. Setting his bible and pince-nez on his dressing table, he slid out of bed, and did not even wait for George to retrieve his dressing gown and slippers before plucking Julie from George’s gentle and protective grip.

Poirot kept her wrapped in the blanket while he placed her on his bed, allowing George to help him into his dressing gown. Once this had been achieved, he ordered him to fetch some cocoa, hoping that it would assist Julie in calming her enough for her to sleep. Sitting on his bed, he pulled Julie into his lap, rocking her gently when she began to cry again. While Julie’s nightmare was not as frightening now as it had been when she woke up, feeling so safe in the presence of her guardian brought the images back to the front of her mind. They were images she wanted very much to forget.

She shuddered as she remembered _them_ and the relentless verbal assaults every day, always the same, she was _worthless_ , an _abomination_ , _lower than dirt_. Unknowingly, she began to whisper these vicious insults, oblivious to a choked-off exclamation from the doorway of Poirot’s bedroom and Poirot’s horrified expression. Immediately he clutched her tighter against him, stating firmly:

“ _Non_! You are not any of those things! You are a very special little girl.”

Poirot’s heartfelt words broke into the memories that Julie had lost herself in, and the stream of whispered insults halted. She shuddered slightly, burying her face in Poirot’s silk dressing-gown. With a noiseless step, George moved hesitantly forward towards the pair, clutching a mug of cocoa. His face was openly displaying his emotions, a mark of how shaken he really was; even in the midst of a crisis his composed mask never slipped. He had not known, as Poirot knew, the full extent of what Julie had suffered before coming under Poirot’s care. He had viewed it as not his business to know everything about this, but had also not wanted to hear how much a child he was very fond of had been hurt.

Carefully placing the mug on Poirot’s bedside table, George was very startled when Julie suddenly seized his arm, drawing him towards her. George was not sure how to deal with this. Miss Julie must be very distressed indeed, to attach herself to his person as well, even though she was safely in her guardian’s arms. Poirot inclined his head slightly, and George moved forward, allowing Julie to maintain the grip on his arm, while he rested his other hand on her shoulder.

In contact now with _two_ people who she loved and felt safe with, the last hold from her nightmare broke completely away, and Julie slowly began to take more interest in what was going on around her. Her nose twitched as she suddenly became aware of the scent of the cocoa on Poirot’s bedside table. George struggled to hide his amusement as Julie’s eyes lit up, behaving like any other child who has become aware of something that contained sugar. Lips twitching, he handed her the mug, desperately trying to avoid Poirot’s gaze. He knew that if he looked Poirot in the eye, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from laughing.

Poirot’s eyes gleamed in amusement as he resisted the temptation to capture his valet’s eye. He knew that George would consider it deeply unprofessional to break into a laughing fit in front of his master, and it would be cruel of him to cause such a scene. Instead he switched his gaze to Julie, who had now let go of George and was practically inhaling her cocoa.

Once she had finished her cocoa, Julie began to feel drowsy. She wearily rested her head against Poirot’s shoulder, and he began to rub her back soothingly. He continued with this action until she fully relaxed against him, and he knew she was asleep. Poirot smiled as George picked up the empty cocoa mug, preparing to depart with it into the kitchen. Speaking softly, so he would not wake Julie, Poirot murmured:

“ _Merci_ , Georges. The comfort you provided _ma petite_ with helped her very much. I hope she does not have to endure another nightmare for a good while.”

Gazing tenderly at his ward, Poirot stroked her hair, uttering a sad comment that could hardly be heard.

“ _Pauvre enfant_. I wish you did not have to suffer these memories.”

George released a deferential cough, his expression becoming wooden once more, as the mask of the imperturbable manservant slipped back into place.

“I too hope these nightmares fade, Sir. They are terribly distressing.”

He paused for a moment, before admitting in an almost rough tone of voice:

“For us too, even though she suffers the most. I had no idea things were that bad before.”

Poirot’s expression became very grim at these words, recalling the condition Julie had been found in, and the cruelties she had suffered. Fixing his valet with a serious look, Poirot growled:

“Things were _very_ bad.”

George had to stop himself physically recoiling at the sudden flare of rage on Monsieur Poirot’s face. However, he knew that anger was not aimed at him, but at those who had harmed the little girl Poirot held in his arms. Even though George did not normally listen to rumours, he had heard claims that the little Belgian had unleashed his rage on one of the people who had mistreated Miss Julie, when the man had broken away from police. This had turned out to be a bad mistake on his part, as Poirot, fuelled by rage and emotional pain at what Miss Julie had suffered, rapidly chased him down, and managed to cause him a great deal of pain before the police caught up with them both. In his mind, George did not condemn his master for those actions, as he himself experienced the urge to do exactly the same every time Miss Julie suffered a nightmare. 

Stifling his anger, Poirot rose from where he had been sitting on his bed, keeping a secure hold on Julie. He nodded to George as he passed him, heading for Julie’s room. It was an indication of how tired she was that Julie did not wake when Poirot settled her gently and carefully into her bed. Kissing her on the forehead, Poirot at last retired to his own bed, catching a glimpse of George as he made his way back into the kitchen. 

The next morning, Julie was startled to realise that she had woken up hours later than she normally did. Padding across her room, she slowly opened the door, catching sight of George as he left the living room with a tray under his arm. He smiled as he saw Julie, coming to a halt in front of her.

“How are you this morning Miss Julie? Would you like me to serve breakfast?”

Julie was both amused and happy at George’s questions. Even when serving her he did not hide his concern about her after her nightmare last night. Smiling up at him, she replied:

“I am...a lot happier this morning. Breakfast would be wonderful. Where is Oncle Hercule?”

“Monsieur Poirot is finishing breakfast in the dining area. He would be glad of your company. He was very worried about you last night.”

Suddenly George looked decidedly uncomfortable, and after a few moments of silence, he added quietly: “I too was worried about you. You were so afraid.”

Almost alarmed at seeing the normally unflustered George so troubled, Julie hastened to reassure him. Quickly she slipped her arms around his waist, muttering: “I’m better now George. I’m not afraid now.”

Abruptly George placed his free arm around her, looking down at her with affection, rather touched that _Miss Julie_ would attempt to comfort him, when this was usually his task. Smiling sadly, George squeezed her gently, murmuring:

“You are not _better_ , child. But you will be in time.”

Julie squeezed his middle in return; glad that George understood how hard it was to break away from the hold her previous caretakers had over the way she acted. George maintained his gentle hold on Julie for a few more moments, before slowly letting her go and heading to the kitchen to prepare her breakfast.

Throughout the day, both George and Poirot noticed that Julie was more subdued than normal, and Poirot resolved to talk to her about it before dinner. Both guardian and ward were engaged in leisure activities before dinner, Poirot listening to his radio, and Julie, as ever, reading a book. While Julie listened to the radio when it was on, today she was unable to follow events, as the frequency it was placed was French-speaking, and understandable only by Poirot. Poirot had been very amused when Julie had absentmindedly used his lap as a seat, already so engrossed in her book as she sat down. Poirot allowed her to read for half an hour before attempting to discover why she had been so quiet throughout the day.

Slowly he laid a hand on her head, knowing very well that Julie was too engrossed to hear him if her called her. She blinked at the feel of Poirot’s stubby hand resting on her head, looking up in enquiry. He smiled down at his ward, before softly asking the question he had held back all day:

“ _Mon enfant_ , is something wrong? You have been very quiet today.”

Julie frowned slightly, before reluctantly admitting the cause of her subdued state. She did not want Poirot to know that her nightmare was still causing repercussions.

“That nightmare last night made me remember too much of what things were like before you found me. I keep remembering bad things. Then, I remember the first time I met you, and those bad things fade away.”

All through this explanation, Poirot had not moved, focussing entirely on what Julie was saying, and nothing else. As she finished he drew her closer to him, enclosing her into his arms. Her words immediately brought back the first time he had seen her, and he found himself reliving that encounter, just as Julie was doing. 

The whole affair had begun with a telephone call from an old friend of Poirot’s, Superintendant Harold Spence. It was rare that a call from Spence was anything but a social occasion, but Poirot could tell the moment he spoke that his friend was acting in a professional capacity.

“Poirot? I’m afraid that what I am about to ask is both distressing and a great imposition. I thought it best to forewarn you.”

Poirot frowned in puzzlement, but hastened to reassure Spence.

“It is of no matter _mon ami_ , I would be glad to assist you.”

Whatever the Superintendent wished to ask him, Poirot had no intention of refusing his request. He would not, however, reveal a large part of his reasoning, which was that he was suffering from _ennui_. He feared that his ‘little grey cells’ were becoming rusty from lack of stimulation, as his last case had been over two months ago. He knew for certain that George would be glad if he accepted a case, no matter what it might be, as he had to admit that he became decidedly irritable and petulant when he had nothing to do.

Slowly, Spence began to outline his problem, and Poirot became more and more grim as his friend continued giving details. The case involved a group of drug dealers, which was bad enough, as anything involving drugs was terrible in what they did to the victims. What made it infinitely worse was another allegation, that these drug dealers were mistreating a child. Poirot narrowed his eyes as Spence ceased recounting the case. It was rare that his temper could be sparked, but there was one certain issue that would be guaranteed to ignite things, and that was someone deliberately harming a child. Spence had almost brought the case to a conclusion, but was having difficulties in pinpointing exactly where these drug dealers had hidden themselves. He knew that Poirot would be the very man to locate them.

Poirot wasted no time in inviting him to his apartment, as the longer he delayed in locating the drug dealers, the more that this child might be hurt. While he was waiting for Spence to arrive, he made haste to clear his desk, as he would need everything in front of him if his little grey cells were to find the solution. As soon as George ushered Spence through the door, Poirot led him into his study. Spence wasted no time on greetings and immediately handed Poirot a large file. At once, Poirot spread out as much of the contents as he could, rapidly and thoroughly scanning all that was in front of him. Spence remained silent as the detective employed his mind, knowing that Poirot needed as little interruption as possible. For exactly this reason, George remained in the living room, having seen the focussed expression snapping across his master’s face.

In no more than forty minutes, Poirot had discovered the solution, with twenty of these minutes spent with his eyes closed. To any casual observer, Poirot was taking a nap, but Spence knew that this was the position that Poirot always adopted when he was thinking deeply, and did not speak. As soon as George heard Poirot revealing the solution to the Superintendent, he immediately prepared his coat and hat, well aware that Poirot would be travelling with his friend to assist in apprehending the suspects.

As soon as Poirot had got into his car, Spence did not waste time on congratulating his friend for discovering the solution to the case, as his entire focus was on directing police to that location, and driving as quickly as he could to the same place. When they arrived, policemen had already taken charge of the entrance, and Spence directed his men to cover all the exits they could find, he wanted to ensure that those inside could not escape. As soon as everything was in place, he ordered his men to enter the building. Only ten minutes later, he received word that almost all of the drug dealers had been apprehended, and that the allegation about mistreating a child was true. Without a word, he and Poirot entered the house, led by a young Sergeant who was clearly shaken by what he had found. When they came across the child, it was easy to see why.

The child, a little girl, was both very young, and clearly terrified. She was wearing a dress which was ragged, and looked as if it had never been washed. It seemed that she herself was in the same state, as she was covered with dirt, and with substances that neither man wanted to dwell on. The room she had been found in appeared to be some kind of storage room, and she barely had space to move. As her dress was so bulky, it was hard to tell what her condition was, but judging by everything else, it was doubtful that she had enough to eat, if anything at all. These things were bad enough, but what really made their anger rise was that she had been tied up. The girl had been almost completely immobilised, a long coil of rope had been used to keep her in this one place. At this moment, Poirot’s attention was distracted from the harrowing sight of the child by a struggle occurring close by. One of the drug dealers was attempting to escape the grip of the Sergeant who had brought them down. When he came within view of the girl, he sneered at them, even as his struggles increased, snidely remarking:

“So you found the little monster? May as well drown the abomination, nothing we did broke her.”

At this point he somehow wrenched himself free, and made for the door at speed. He was immediately pursued by someone Spence had not been expecting, as with an inarticulate cry of rage, Poirot hurled himself after the man. His temper had been steadily rising from the moment he saw the details of the case, but this casual cruelty and disregard was too much, and something within him snapped. His speed would have surprised a number of his friends had they witnessed it, but Poirot’s cane was mostly for show, and he rapidly caught up with the man.

The man soon discovered that it would have been better if he had left himself in the hands of the police, as Poirot stopped his flight with a hard strike at the back of his legs from his cane, as he came within reach of the man. As he toppled over, Poirot was on him instantly, letting go of his cane and using all four limbs to punch every part of him he could reach. At this moment, Poirot did not care if he was arrested for assault; he believed this was worth it. Spence had a good idea what Poirot’s intentions were, and allowed a few minutes to elapse before he went after him, so that Poirot could make himself scarce when the police caught up, and allow him time to do what professionalism prevented Spence himself from doing.

As Poirot heard the sound of a police car, he reluctantly stopped his assault on the now barely-conscious man, snatching up his cane and darting rapidly down a side street. He had not given the man an opportunity to fight back, so Poirot himself was unhurt. For a few moments he entertained the notion of returning to his apartment, but the child he had just seen drew him back to the house he had just left. He pitied her greatly, wanting to make sure she would be alright. When he got to the house, the Sergeant from before was at the entrance, and correctly guessed Poirot’s intention. He was surprised that the girl was still in the house, but the Sergeant explained that she had not allowed any of the police to get near her, and had retreated to a space that they could not get into, using what little movement she had. Slowly, so as not to startle her, Poirot crouched down so that he could see her more clearly, and also appear less frightening. Inching a hand towards her, he spoke gently and coaxingly.

Julie had been aware that _something_ was happening, as her ‘caretakers’ had not come in to kick her as they normally did some time in the afternoon. This was confirmed when she heard the sounds of fighting, and she hoped that this would mean something better would happen to her. For as long as she could remember, she had been with the people who hurt her, and she never knew any other room but this one. She had not always been tied up, that had begun only a few weeks ago, but it made things worse for her, as her usual tactics of running and hiding until her ‘caretakers’ got bored could no longer be employed. She was frightened when the door was flung open, and she saw some new people enter the room. They were all big and tall, and Julie was frightened of them.

 _However, a short time later two others also entered the room, and one of them was so_ different from the other men around her that Julie was fascinated. He was a lot shorter than the others, which made him seem less scary. Unfortunately, he left them room when someone started shouting, and Julie once more became frightened, left alone with these big, tall men. It was too much, and Julie, with much effort and struggling, moved enough of her limbs to tuck herself between two boxes. She hoped that if she stayed in this gap, the tall scary men would go away and leave her alone.

She was somewhat startled when the short man from before suddenly appeared in her view. She relaxed slightly when she saw him, she felt that he wasn’t as scary, and she preferred him to be there than any of the other men. Slowly, he reached a hand out towards her. Julie was wary of that hand, as nothing good had ever come from an adult’s hand being that close to her. However, she was very distracted when the man spoke to her.

“I know things are frightening for you, _ma petite_. You have found a very good hiding place there. But can you not trust Papa Poirot? All I want to do is get you free of that rope.”

His voice was so very different from the voices she was used to hearing. Apart from being so gentle, his voice was also fascinating, as he spoke with a noticeable accent. For the moment Julie could not place it, but she liked how different it was. Something about this man’s mere presence seemed to calm her, and she knew he would not harm her. Slowly, and with difficulty, she extracted herself from between the boxes. The man, Poirot, moved towards her again with the same slow movements as before, slowly and methodically untying the knots that kept Julie bound.

Once he had finished, Julie startled both Poirot and herself by snatching his hand, heedless of the stiffness and pain in her muscles. She felt safe with this man, and didn’t want to lose him. Poirot smiled down at her, slowly pulling her towards him until she was close enough for him to pull her into his arms. He did so, and simply held her while she tensed at the sensation of someone holding her. Usually, if someone was touching her, it was to cause her pain. However, as a small amount of time passed, and nothing happened, Julie allowed herself to relax completely, resting her head against him and at last allowing her weariness to engulf her, slipping into a deep sleep. 

As soon as the child fell asleep in his arms, Poirot felt a deep attachment towards her. He would do his best to show her that not all adults would cause her harm, and to do what he could to heal the emotional scars such a terrible life had created on this little girl. He knew it would take a long time, but he was determined to succeed and make her happy, deciding at that moment that he would make her his ward.

Poirot and Julie were both startled out of this recall of memories by the sound of the living room door being opened. George hesitated in the doorway, not wanting to disturb them more than he had done already. However, both ward and guardian shook themselves out of their memories, and Poirot enquired, “ _Oui?_ What is it Georges?” George smiled apologetically, murmuring:

“Dinner is now ready to be served.”

At this announcement, Julie immediately sprang up from Poirot’s lap, shooting past George to the bathroom to wash her hands. Poirot laughed at this reaction, and George smiled, feeling pleased. Clearly, whatever had caused Julie to be so subdued today was no longer affecting her. As Julie consumed her dinner, she felt happy again, as she knew that both her guardian and his valet would always be there to reassure her whenever her past manifested itself in her new life, a life were she no longer feared that every adult was a threat. 


End file.
